


the wars we fought

by lightningwaltz



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen, Robert's Rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-04
Updated: 2011-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-17 14:14:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/pseuds/lightningwaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During Robert's Rebellion, Elia Martell survives the Red Keep as best as she can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the wars we fought

The Seven, in their eternal capriciousness, finally deigned to give Elia Martell near perfect health when she was a prisoner of the royal family. This sudden energy was a useless blessing. Her companions had connived or sneaked away from King’s Landing (and Elia could hardly begrudge them; she would not spare the same opportunity a second thought) and only her children and her strength had remained to her. Even Ashara was gone these days, though the contingent of the Daynes’ retainers had been so kind as to “invite” Elia to a “brief stay” at Starfall. Elia had seen the request for what it was, and so had the king. No doubt one of her brothers’ men was waiting there to spirit her away to Sunspear. He was soon to be disappointed.

Ashara had cried before her departure, even if she had tried to conceal the fact. Elia could not forget that.

And because she was the inexplicable picture of well being these days, there was no worthwhile reason to decline a summons for dinner with Aerys. Elia dressed in Dornish colors- as the war efforts became more desperate, Elia had grown bolder- and set one of her handmaids to braiding her hair, and arranging her jewelry. That decided, she settled into the daily task of interrogating her children’s nurse. By all accounts Aegon was peaceful, undisturbed by the chaos that swirled around him. Rhaenys though…

“She is well enough.” The woman, whose name was Helena, would not meet Elia’s eyes

“And yet?” Elia winced as her servant encountered a snarl in her hair.

“Nothing much, though she been a bit melancholy this week.”

Elia sighed. Rhaenys had become a veritable terror, alternately clinging to her mother, or pushing her away. Three days ago she had tried to kick Prince Viserys, and it had taken a number of judicious bribes to ensure the news never reached the king’s ears. The princess missed her father terribly, and the paranoia that surrounded her was poisoning the girl from within. Elia had tried to keep the worst details of the Starks’ deaths from reaching Rhaenys, but the increase in her daughter’s nightmares suggested that something, somewhere, had gone amiss.

Helena’s eyes were wide and she was all but wringing her hands, so Elia favored her with a smile. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’re trying your best.”

“So are you, my lady.”

It was the kindest sentence Elia had heard in weeks.

*****

Jaime Lannister came to escort Elia to the meeting. He had been her near-betrothed in childhood and her near-brother in adulthood. Somewhere along the way they had become hostages, and there no ambiguities about _that_ state of being.

In the early days of his role in the Kingsguard, Elia had quickly come to like him for his acerbic wit; so alike and so different from her younger brother. Both had an unspoken agreement to keep this camaraderie from the king. A Martell-Lannister alliance of any kind was, no doubt, somewhere at the top of his list of fears.

In any case, it had fallen apart. Ever since the recent executions, Jaime had been quiet, withdrawn. He mouthed the required courtesies, and Elia had responded in kind. No desperate jests, or muttered asides. The conversation ended there.

_Ah well._

*****

“I have received letters from your brothers.” Her father-in-law, the king of Westeros, a man born of an ancient bloodline of Valyrian invaders was an utter wreck of a human being. “The older one is careful, and the younger is furious.” _As usual_ , seemed to be implied, though there was no real way of knowing.

Elia considered her answer. In recent months, she had made a certain amount of peace with the fact the Aerys could have her killed at the slightest provocation. He had suggested as much to Lewyn several weeks past, and she saw no reason to believe he was exaggerating.

That aside, when Aerys bothered to speak directly to her, he was almost polite about it. Very nearly _congenial_ at times, though that trait was diminishing daily. The topics of conversation could make the hair rise on the back of her neck, but his tone was never threatening or vengeful. It seemed that the Elia Martell he would gladly kill was not the same Elia Martell he required for the discussion of battles and trade and politics.

“I’m sorry Oberyn is being so… recalcitrant.” And because she was feeling brave today; “Doran is frequently annoyed by him, as well. Oberyn rarely acts on such impulses, at least.”

“Except,” Aerys said conversationally, “when he killed Yronwood.”

“Mother and I berated him so much for that incident.” Elia stared at her food. Perhaps she was not feeling well after all. “I suspect my brother will foster one of his children to Lord Anders. To makes amends.”

“If he’s smart about it, yes.”

Almost on cue, they _both_ reached for their cups of wine (Arbor vintage, not Dornish. That was probably significant, but Elia couldn’t guess how.) She very nearly laughed.

“My son has treated you terribly, hasn’t he?”

It was a question, an expression of sympathy, and a warning all wrapped into one bewildering sentence. Elia very nearly agreed with him, before catching herself. “I have no doubt he will prevail against the rebels.”

“Good answer. I’ve decided you’re more like your older brother.”


End file.
